


Lull

by pseudofaux



Series: Try [3]
Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY
Genre: But he improvises like a ninja-champ!, F/M, Kansuke Does Not Understand, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Voyeurism, Yamamoto goes yama-low-to, lady gettin' her sweet self off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 00:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14484591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofaux/pseuds/pseudofaux
Summary: Almost every night, Kansuke checks on her to make sure she is safe before going to his own bed. He knows she's lovely and lonely, and half expects to find her with someone. He does not expect what he does find. Surely, he is dreaming.





	Lull

**Author's Note:**

> This is chronologically first in the Try series. My response to a tumblr request for Kansuke smut/fluff where he surprises an MC who is getting off thinking about him. It's told by Kansuke, in third person. 
> 
> I've omitted the MC's name here. It is Meiri. A sick part of my heart thinks maybe Kansuke had a better than neutral opinion of her but didn't know her name yet. XD

On nights when he was not exhausted unto the edge of an early grave by his efforts to save Shingen from himself, Kansuke checked on her rooms before retiring. He rationalized the first time but after that didn’t waste the energy to delude himself. He didn’t have to fret over the why of wanting to check on her, make sure her room was safe and her room was (mostly) secure. He acknowledged that he did want to, and did, and then usually saw himself to his own room to sleep.

He would spare the moments to check her door, and the window, and the shadows, and her face. He had considered it punishment for his intrusive behavior that he had discovered her cycle this way; she went without covers and her sleep was fitful a night or so before she began to bleed.

He had puzzled briefly over whether or not to offer her a village remedy that would help. They were quietly friendly, and he let her see him (during the day), and she gave him sweet smiles and always served his meals to his taste. But how to explain why he was offering it? He did not have Shingen’s brash, beloved-by-all nature, nor Saizo’s impeccable indifference, and Sasuke’s bombastic good cheer was something he barely even understood. There was no way he could think of to bring up the medicine, and he sincerely hoped she wasn’t foolish enough to accept random herbs left her in room.

So he left the knowledge where it belonged, with all the other secrets he would never reveal and hopefully never act upon.

There was no light in her room this night. That was normal. It was late.

But he heard muffled sounds from within, and that was very unusual. He approached on silent feet, hopping up toward a reliable beam to access the ceiling of her room and check on things.

Kansuke knew that one night he might find her with someone. Her smile was pretty and she had nice manners. No one in the clan would touch her without her consent (Shingen was a handful, and overly passionate, but his care for all of his people made Kansuke proud to serve him), but it was entirely possible she might have given it—that she served dishes and smiles to someone more outwardly receptive than he was. It would not be surprising if she accepted someone’s suit. He knew she was homesick and lonely. He knew she was a woman.

Kansuke steeled himself for the discovery, because from the ceiling the quiet sounds were… obvious in nature. He went still and silent, and waited for things to become clear.

“Kansuke,” she sighed, with so much longing, and for a moment he was concerned she knew he was there.

Then she did it again, following his name with a desperate whimper. She was biting her lip and her brows were down in worried focus.

Her hands… her hands were under her blanket, moving against her skin. One was between her legs, and the ripple of the blanket suggested she was stroking herself.

And saying his name.

And Kansuke realized with a little jolt of delayed amusement that he was **_dreaming_**. He so rarely dreamed. It was surprising that his mind produced her so vividly, in a way. In another, it was not. He spent a good deal of time observing her.

In his dream, he watched her with a peregrine’s intensity. He had never considered himself so creative, but somehow his mind had rendered her with impressive realism. She would flush in just that way, it was believable that she would rock her hips up to meet her hand, that she would run her fingers over her chest and press her nipples. In all the ways he knew people, he knew.

Her hand slid quickly from her robe, landing above her head on the modest bedding as she held the _n_ of his name—his name!—against her shoulder to hush her own cry. A tendon of her neck flexed. He was mesmerized.

When she sighed and her face relaxed, she was every beautiful thing he had ever seen in the wicked world and better. Her brows went up in an expression of amused pleasure, like she was impressed with something, and her smile was more relieved than he had ever witnessed on her face awake. She looked benevolent and generous. It reminded him of his own releases as a young man, how… calm, and warm, everything could feel after. Though he knew he had never looked as beautiful as she did.

Something cold wrapped around his heart, the silk of a strangling cord, and he was very glad she was not with someone else.

She was with him, in her mind.

With him.

That was as wonderful as it was unbelievable.

He decided, because this was a dream, and because he was so desperately, suddenly, selfishly curious, that he would stay a few more minutes and watch her relax into sleep. Sometimes he became sleepy, when… well. His schooling in the village had made it clear that reaction varied from person to person.

Her breathing slowed, but her face did not relax. The smile and the amused, pleased cast of her face stayed right where they were. She made a little hum, the picture of contentment in the otherwise quiet room. He swore she was glowing softly in the dark. It was too true and too beautiful to feel foolish over.

She did not sleep. Perhaps she was thinking? He watched her mouth, waiting for the peace of sleep to take her away.

Her hand moved slowly down her hair, barely pressing. She tilted her face up toward her own touch and what had been cold around his heart became warm. Her little fingertips went to her mouth and she slid them across her lips. Back and forth, slowly, as though she was luxuriating in the touch. The movement was so without catch he thought that her lips must be exceptionally smooth. She looked dreamy, but he knew she wasn’t dreaming.

What _was_ she doing? 

Her teeth drew her lower lip into her mouth and held it there as her hand slid down her throat to return to her breasts.

Oh.

He watched from the beginning this time, taking in how she sought pleasure. He tried to commit it all to memory. He would never use this information, and he would never, ever use it against her.

She was so beautiful, flushed and breathing deeply as she sought another release. He tried to keep each of her reactions but even with nothing else to distract him, the way she herself manifested before him distracted him. He wanted to watch her face and body and hands at the same time, and his eyes kept sliding to different parts of her, silently praising and encouraging her work.

She became frustrated after a few minutes. She was fretting at her lip with her teeth, rolling her back up from her bedding and moving her hips up with more force to meet her hand. He could see that she was pinching and flicking at her nipples, the peaks strong enough to cast tiny shadows on her blanket. Something in him—probably a trick of the dream—wanted to soothe her and take as much of each breast as he could fit into his mouth, and suck at her until the skin was pinked and she slammed over that line and into bliss. He would catch her when she did and wipe the sweat from her skin in careful strokes.

A small whimper floated up to him. She was struggling.

He began to struggle, too. Should he stay and watch, leave, help? Which was most respectful? If he stayed she wouldn’t know he had been there, but he could lend her his voyeur’s support. If he left, she would be as alone as she thought she was. If he helped…

That was an awfully risky if.

Another whimper.

He wanted to help. But he didn’t know how to not frighten her.

Grabbing at a wisp of an idea, Kansuke relied on a rarely-used ability and threw his voice in a low lullaby. Something comforting he had heard sung to a baby, nonthreatening. He worked his throat to make it sound like the song was coming from the hall, and then brought it closer and closer to where he was, watching her follow the sound with her eyes. Her movements slowed.

He didn’t pride himself on his voice, and wasn’t much used to singing, but the depth of tone to his rendition of the lullaby soothed him. He hoped it soothed her.

He took a deep steadying breath and hummed it out as he moved the ceiling panel, let himself fall to a crouch on the floor beside her, and put his hand over her mouth. He made eye contact with her immediately, feeling terrible for startling her. Her eyes were so very wide, and he could almost hear the bump of her pulse. Under his fingers, her lips were trembling.

“I heard you,” he quietly confessed. She warmed beneath him. He could see the crests of her cheeks going a deeper pink. Her pupils got even wider in the dimness of the room.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked. He would, if she wanted him to. He would leave immediately and never make her see him again.

Her mouth did something he couldn’t quite make sense of underneath his hand. Her eyes tracked down to his jaw, then came back up.

When they were looking at each other again, she shook her head. Twice. Firmly.

He tried not to take that as _victory_ , tried to count it instead as _a given grace_ in many ways, but he couldn’t get rid of the idea entirely.

No time like the present. Her need had brought him here and he wanted very much to help her.

“May I…?”

She groaned sweetly, directly onto his palm, her eyes shutting as she tipped her head back. And then she nodded, and it was hard to keep his good sense. The heat of her breath had made his entire body feel as though he were wading through the sultriest part of summer.

When he came back to himself in the dream, he was stroking her neck. The faint musculature of the column was fascinating to him, and there was a smell. Her own scent! He had never in his private life been close enough to a grown woman to take in one’s perfume. It waved up from her skin and into the air around them, elusive and intoxicating. His other hand was still over her mouth, loosely resting on her lips and chin, where her breath panted against the seams of his palm.

He dared to lean closer, and raised his eyebrows at her. She nodded again.

So he dared further, and pressed his lips, long without the contact of another person, to the soft apple of one of her cheeks. He had thought apples but here she truly smelled faintly like apricots, a fresh, sweet smell he found himself seeking with his nose as his gentle kisses sought more of her skin. She went warm again and he felt himself smile. Felt her smile, too. What a lovely dream this was. All that she was captivated him.

He slipped a hand to her shoulder and the edge of her blanket, and stole beneath her covers like a nobly-intentioned thief. He swore to himself, and silently to her, that he only meant to help her see to her pleasure.

“Kansuke,” she whispered, fierce and quiet, as she turned to him. The warmth of her bedding was the most comforting thing he had felt in as long as he could remember.

Then she put one of her hands on his cheek, and he mirrored the gesture. He nodded. She gave him a tiny smile he wanted to kiss off her mouth. But even in dreams, there was only so far he would dare to go. He kissed her cheek again instead, reveling in the incredibly soft give of her skin. Then more kisses that were dry brushes of his lips against her cheek and the curve of her jaw… until he reached her throat. Then he swept his tongue against the sweetness of her, and latched as gently as he could, pulling blood to the surface and stuttered gasps from her mouth. Both her hands were in his hair, he realized, and realized further that he liked that very much.

He wanted to stay right where he was, working her skin with his mouth, but that would not help her find release, and that was his purpose. So he left that spot with a kiss, hoping it would fade and hoping it would not, and he trailed more kisses to her clavicle, the swell of her chest. To the nipples he bared by pushing her sleeping robe away.

She was so lovely. He hoped he would never forget this feeling of being trusted, not when he woke up and not when he died. Someone so sweet could have anyone. But she accepted him. Even in something he knew as a dream, what a gift, the very idea of it.

He slid himself lower, and took one peak into his mouth and held the other breast in his hand, trying to soothe and arouse her at the same time. If he had not been so dedicated he might have looked up when she started trembling and made that beautiful soft sound. But he was dedicated. So he stayed, and tried to make her make the sound again.

As he bit and tongued her with all the gentleness he could, trying to pay equal attention to both breasts, her little gasps became a waterfall of whispers. His name, sounds full of tension and pleasure, assent. They fell from her mouth into his hair like a spray, perfect and natural. She was doing him so much honor. Her nipples felt like nothing he had ever experienced, and rolling them between his tongue and his top teeth was as comforting as it was arousing.  

She smelled faintly of fruit on the skin of her chest, too. He took in deep lungfuls, picking out the notes of her scent as he listened to what her body was telling him. He felt so sure, in that strange way of dreams, that he was doing the right things.

So when it was time to travel further down her body, he only hesitated long enough to give each nipple one firm suck farewell before moving on. The loose belt of her sleeping robe he untied and pulled away, and as the blanket had moved down with him she was bared to the night air. It was only right to curve his hands over her sides, to thumb her lowest ribs as he kissed her abdomen, pressed his cheek against the sweet softness of her belly, nipped lightly at the start of the thatch of hair below it. She was quivering, and her own hands were cupping her breasts. He hoped that she was keeping the heat of his attention on her skin. He wanted her to feel it as long as she wished to.

A soft part of his soul wished she could dream this, too. What benefit could she get from his selfish dream? He was realizing that his own desire, even upon waking, was to be with her.

As though she thought the same, she sweetly, slowly, boldly spread her legs and he settled himself between them. He looked up to find her watching him, and she gave him another tight nod.

Knowing she was worked up, but also knowing she had enjoyed the slower attentions he’d given her body, he puzzled for a moment over how to proceed. Fast, so she could peak? Slow, so it could come upon her warm and with comfort?

As he thought on this, one of her hands slid down to precisely where he was looking, and she spread herself for him and whispered “Please.”

So Kansuke set to her sex like a man possessed, curling his tongue into the base of her slit and following the notch to its crown. Her legs jerked and he moved his hands to wrap around the outside of her thighs in an effort to ground her. He liked her taste and _loved_ how much of her wetness there was on his tongue from a single pass at her cleft. Here, she was seawater and the earthy, comfortable blaze of a hearthfire. Addictive. She was too slick for him to feel the rasp of his own tongue, only the smooth, wet, heavenly glide of moving against her. He rolled her little bump of nerves with the tip of his tongue and she jerked again, but her hand went to the back of his head to keep him where he was. And after her breath caught she loosed the most beautiful sigh into the air, quiet music more reassuring than any lullaby. He had absolutely no inclination to leave.

Kansuke devoted himself to giving her pleasure. He pressed his tongue into her and she liked it so much he fucked her with it, drawing more of that slick, delicious arousal out of her body and stifled mewls from her mouth. When he moved to return to her clit with tongue and teeth, she was warm enough to be sweating, and it added a heady salt to the smell of her body. Forgoing shame (and thankful for the freedom of dreams), he ground his nose against that most sensitive place as he lapped at her, keeping his movements consistent. He watched as she watched him, and then closed her eyes, her face tense as the final pleasure danced away from her.

“Keep— _ah!_ —keep doing that,” she gasped. “Please.”

Nothing would make him stop.

“Harder,” her voice begged. He complied immediately, more eager to help her than he was to breathe.

So tense were the muscles of her legs that he had half a worry she might hurt herself. She was pushing her sex at his face and grinding against him, keeping a rhythm he matched because not doing so was out of the question. Then she went still, and he kept moving, and a cry as clear and sustaining as cold spring water touched his ears and blessed the world.

He slowed, only nudging her now, flattening his tongue for relaxed sweeps up, in, up. Again. Again.

Her sigh was even sweeter than her cry had been. He had never felt a live body relax as hers did beneath his hands and his mouth. His own eyelids fluttered as he groaned against her sex, relieved they had been successful. And more taken with her than he had realized or could say.

She was soon so lax on her bedding that even her legs moved with her breathing. He kissed the inside of each thigh firmly before trailing gentle kisses up to her navel, then her sternum. Tender in a way he didn’t have the presence to think about, he brushed a cheek against each of her breasts, trying to be near her soft skin without touching her nipples as she came down.

Her eyelids looked like they felt very heavy as she opened them. He hoped her satiety would make for a night of deep, comfortable sleep.

He kissed her forehead and murmured her name against it, feeling in this dream a sudden lack of concern with what harm it might do. When she hummed under him the sound curled around his deepest heart, and he knew he would never let it go. That sound would haunt him for the rest of his life, a welcome specter.

Her arms went up behind him, hugging under his own arms.

“Please stay,” she whispered. She sounded tired.

Pride sliced through his good sense as though the latter were paper.

“I will. For a time,” he told her, settling on his side so he could look at her. She ruined it by insistently following him and sliding her arms under his again, pressing herself to chest. For a moment his hand hovered in surprise. When he relaxed his arm, the hand slid along her hair, and every ruined thing was rebuilt, better and more beautiful.

He held her to him, and stroked her hair, and breathed her scent from the crown of her head and his own face. Felt her body give itself over to sleep. He blinked and he breathed and squeezed her, gently.

It would have been nothing to extricate himself and leave her peacefully asleep, but… his self, in this dream and out, didn’t want to. He wanted to stay. He listened to the sound of her breathing and was torn.

“Kansuke,” she said, voice sleep-soft, sleep-sweet. “What about you?”

She was so good. He did not deserve her, and that was why this dream was as special as it was. What a wonder.

“What about me?” he asked when she did not elaborate.

She frowned. He could feel it against his chest, and then she was looking up at him and he could see it. Even displeased, what a sight she was. In the frame of his arms, of all places. Having tucked herself tightly to his body, so much of her warmth reaching him directly through the cloth of his kimono.

“What about your pleasure?” she asked.

“I am well pleased,” he murmured immediately, and he knew he was smiling. “Believe me.”

She went quiet, and she was not awake long. When he knew she slept, he put another kiss on her forehead and murmured a prayer that this woman would always be safe, and know the true happiness she deserved.

He made sure her blanket was covering her limbs and would keep her warm. Even in a dream, even though he wished, he could not keep her warm himself. He looked at her for a long moment before leaving and hummed more of the lullaby to cover the sound of her ceiling righting itself.

In his own bedding, in a room not far from hers, he thought about how odd it was to go to sleep in a dream, and wondered what waking up would be like.

And then he knew no more.

* * *

The next day, he woke feeling normal. Better, perhaps, thanks to his dream. At breakfast she looked luminous, and he had to remind himself to keep his eyes off her. After she served Shingen, she brought a tray to him in the shadows of the dais and set it down with her usual soft greeting. Drawn by her voice, his eyes snapped up to hers, and he saw the faint pink rise on her cheeks, saw her faster than usual blinking. That was to be expected when he was staring at her so openly, and he made his eyes move away.

They moved down. As close as she was, he noticed a dusting of something on her upper neck, likely from the kitchens. It made her skin look sallow.

Underneath the powder—kinako, possibly, mixed with something lighter?—her skin was faintly abraded. As though someone had pulled at the flesh of her neck with a kiss.

Kansuke frowned, and realized he might be blushing at little himself. He was very relieved Shingen was enjoying loud conversation with a retainer, planning something, just a few feet away. It was precious distance, and Shingen’s russet-clad back was to them. He had a moment to consider.

He knew that spot on her. He knew its precise, incomparable suppleness, and the sound she made when it was loved. His body was as full of that knowledge as it was of blood and secrets.

He had hoped it would fade, and hoped that it would not fade. A dream…? It had been a dream!

Her sweet, quiet eyes; her tiny, hopeful smile; the silent, soft touch of her fingers on his hand; all of her told him without words that her pleasure had not been a dream. And his own heart knew his pleasure in that. It was dream-wonderful. But he was awake.

**Author's Note:**

> So. This bit of perfectly-buttered popcorn. I love him so much. I think he really would struggle with the knowing he had a possible solution to her premenstrual symptoms and write himself off as not knowing how to bring it up-- which doesn't mean he _actually_ couldn't, just that he doesn't _think_ he could. He's wrong. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> I think the trope/convention/gambit that "he thinks it's all a dream!" is a big _**hmmmmmmm, probably not**_ for ninja BUT since Kansuke absolutely does not see himself as a possible love or sex interest for this MC, I hope you were able to buy his shock and the way he rationalized it out. I thought it harkened nicely to Meiri's dream later in the series, and I think he's well aware of the contrast between him and practically everyone else in the cast in Kai.


End file.
